


I Need A Hero

by Onyxim



Category: DCU (Animated), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Bonding, Fever, Flu, Gratuitous Vomiting, Hurt/Comfort, Let's pretend for a minute that Conner can get sick, M/M, Sick Conner, Some Humor, SuperDad, nothing too graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 14:02:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5459048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onyxim/pseuds/Onyxim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Conner gets sick at school, and Clark is the only one available to take care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Need A Hero

**Author's Note:**

> Just for the record, I AM adding a Chapter 2. AO3 just won't let me do the 1/? thing.

Conner sluggishly lifted himself out of bed, his body feeling heavy. He was sticky with sweat--his T-shirt clung to his chest--and his head was swimmy. It took a few moments to realize that it was morning, and he had about twenty minutes to get ready to go to school.

Hurriedly, he pulled on a black shirt and a pair of jeans from off the floor. He didn't bother taking a shower, or brushing his teeth. He felt too terrible.

Conner shuffled out of his room with his book bag slung over one shoulder. He could only hear M'gann in the kitchen, humming some tune under her breath as she made a two bowls of oatmeal.

"Good morning, Conner!" she quipped, using her powers to pull a few spices out of one if the nearby cabinets. "What would you like on your oatmeal? Cinnamon? Apple? Brown sugar?" She grinned at him.

He stopped at the island in the middle of the kitchen and eyed the breakfast wearily. It was kind of lumpy-lookng, with a few flecks of what he assumed was flavouring. His insides twisted a little and he winced.

"Not hungry," he said and began to exit the kitchen, to one of the boom tubes in the cave.

He could almost _feel_ M'gann's disappointment as she began to float after him. "But don't you--"

"I'm not hungry," Conner grunted again and began activating the boom tube.

M'gann sighed and hung her head, floating back into the kitchen. "Okay," she said miserably. "I'll just go throw it away, then. . ."

Conner tried to ignore her.

"All this food, going to _waste_. . ." He heard the trash can lid being lifted.

"Alright, fine," Conner said, exasperated. "I'll eat some."

M'gann whipped around to face him. "Oh, really? I promise, Conner, you're going to _love it._ I didn't burn anything this time!"

Conner sighed.

\-----

Biology was the second-to-last class of the day. Conner sat in the back of the dark room, where only one other student--April, she was a cheerleader--sat next to him. She had been watching him all day, since they had the same classes.

He was so exhausted, even after eight fiftful hours of sleep. He struggled to keep his eyes open. Breakfast sat heavy in his stomach and he tried not to think about whatever the teacher was going over on the board.

"Fruit flies lay their eggs near the surface of fermenting foods or other moist, organic materials. Upon emerging, the tiny larvae continue to feed near the surface of the fermenting mass," Ms. Bunch explained as she flipped through slides on the PowerPoint.

Conner groaned inwardly. The feeling in the pit of his gut returned.

"Larvae hatch after several days. They molt two times before they encapsulate themselves and transform into pupa. Four days later, the adult insect emerges."

Something in the back of Conner's throat jolted and he made a small, involuntary sound. April's head whipped to the side, her eyes wide with horror and blonde eyebrows nearly disappearing into her hairline.

"Conner," she whispered. "Conner!"

He grunted.

"Do you want me to get the teacher?"

Conner didn't say anything. Something told him to keep his mouth shut. _What the hell's wrong with me?_ he wondered. _Am I dying?_

Ms. Bunch then chose that moment to go into *explicit* detail on how the female fruit fly lays her eggs.

Conner's stomach felt like a hurricane. Except, instead of everything swirling around, all of it wanted to come back up. Conner sat straight up on his seat, one gloved hand covering his mouth. April gasped and quickly shouted, "Ms. Bunch, Conner's gonna be sick!"

_Oh why, WHY did she have to attract the attention of the entire class?_

Nearly every pair of eyes began staring in his direction. Ms. Bunch took action immediately, grabbing the plastic trash can next to her desk.

Unfortunately, she was too late.

Conner's first impulse was to lean over and open his mouth, which he did. And then, there was this terrible, awful feeling in his stomach and throat and suddenly his oatmeal was all over the floor. It made the most sickening sound, and April jumped from her seat like it was in fire, covering her nose and whispering "Oh my God, oh my God," under her breath.

"Everyone--single file line, out of the classroom, now!" Ms. Bunch ordered. Of course, no one listened, and they all hurried out of the classroom in a manner that would have made Wally proud.

Conner felt even worse. He was trembling, he felt feeble and small. His throat burned and tears gathered in his eyes because of it.

Ms. Bunch walked around the mess and placed a hand on his back. "Conner. I'm gonna need you to get up for me, okay? I'm taking you to the nurse."

Conner nodded mutely and let his teacher guide him out of the chair and onto shaking legs. Ms. Bunch placed a hand on his forehead and murmured something about him burning up--oh God, he really _was_ dying. He was going to die!

There was a second way out of the classroom and into one of the chemistry labs, which lead to the hallway. The trip to the nurse's office was tortuous and Conner felt himself getting heavier with every step. He got that awful feeling in his throat again the moment they stepped into the nurse's office, and Ms. Bunch must have sensed his distress because she quickly grabbed the trash can next to the nurse's door and held it under his chin.

"Oh, dear," the nurse said when everything started coming up and falling into the trash. She got up from her desk and rushed over. "Here--I've got him."

She guided Conner into a room with several cots and let him sit down on the edge of one. Conner kept his eyes scrunched shut and the trash can right below his face, because frankly, he was afraid. His whole body was sore and sweating and his throat was raw from _whatever was happening_.

"Honey," the nurse said warmly, splaying a hand on his trembling back as she knelt in front of him. "Do you have someone I can call to pick you up?"

Conner shook his head. The only person he could call was M'gann, whom he lived in the Cave with, besides Tornado. He could always get another League member to pick him up, but it didn't seem like a good idea.

The nurse nodded. "Well, hang tight. I'm going to get the thermometer and take your temperature, okay? Just lay down." She pried the trash can from his hands.

Conner, too tired to object, slumped onto the cot, letting his head rest on the satisfyingly cold pillow. _I should be immune to sickness_ , he thought. _What's going on?_

The nurse left the room. Conner let his eyes slip closed, drowsiness finally taking over. It seemed like hours later he was roused out of his sleep for the nurse to slip that thermometer thing under his tongue. Conner obeyed when she said to close and open his mouth again.

He barley registered what she said: "Oh, that's not good. 105," she said, frowning at the piece of plastic.

Conner felt a swell of panic in his chest. His eyes grew wide and he scrambled to sit up in the bed. Unfortunately, this brought another wave of unpleasantness in his stomach and his hands flew to his mouth for the second time that day. The nurse lifted the trash can to his face again and Conner heaved until there was nothing but strings of spit hanging from his lips. He coughed, winced when his raw throat was irritated.

He groaned. "Wha's happening," Conner said sleepily, closing his eyes against the headache that took place after the trash can was set aside.

"You're sick, honey, that's all," said the nurse, covering Conner with the a blanket and placing the palm of her head against his forehead. (Why did everyone keep doing that?)

"Sick? I don't get sick," he mumbled, eyes already closed as he began to drift off. "Everyone does, it's okay." The nurse stood up.

A thought suddenly popped into Conner's head, but he quickly dismissed it. There was no way he'd come to get him. What was the point of asking? But. . .if _everyone_ gets sick, like the nurse says, perhaps even Superman has had the same problem.

"I. . .I think I have someone you can call," Conner called weakly.

\-------

Clark was just finishing up a report when his cell phone started ringing. Still typing with one hand, he grabbed it and let it rest between his shoulder and his ear. "Clark Kent speaking."

"Mr. Kent?" came a soft voice from the other line. "Hi, I'm Mrs. Gentry, the nurse at Happy Harbor High School. I have Conner here with me."

Clark frowned. "Conner?" he asked, trying not to sound too confused.

"Yes, he's thrown up in class, and twice in the office. His fever is 105. He was wondering if you could come pick him up and take him home."

Clark was silent a minute. Out of all people, why would Conner call _him?_ "I should be there within the hour," he found himself saying.

"Great, and thank you, Mr. Kent."

"No problem." He hung up and leaned back in his seat.

He picked up the phone and dialed another number.

"Clark?" Bruce said  when he picked up on the third ring. "What's going on?"

"Well--" Clark began, then stopped. "Wait. What do you mean, 'what's going on'? I can't call you?"

"You usually only call me during work if it's an emergency. Plus, I was just in the middle of a conference." Clark noticed that Bruce's voice was a bit hushed.

"I remember you telling me about that," Clark said, embarrassed. "Sorry."

"Just make it quick. I can practically hear the snarky comments from the other board members."

"Well, apparently, Conner's sick," Clark said as he began to tidy up his desk to get ready to leave. "His school just called me. He's been throwing up all day."

"Is that right?" Bruce said.

"I just don't understand how he got my nu--" Clark paused. "Bruce, you didn't."

"It was a just-in-case action," Bruce said calmly, but he knew Bruce was grinning on the other side of the phone. "You know, for emergencies."

"Uh-huh." Clark slipped his jacket on. He already knew that Bruce had given Conner his number to get them to bond.

"Anyway, just take him to the Manor. I'm sure Alfred can help you take care of him."

"Alright. I'll see you at dinner, then?"

"Probably. Bye, Clark."

"Love you."

There was a mumbled "love you, too" and Bruce hung up.

Clark took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. The best way to get to Happy Harbor in a short amount of time was most likely a boom tube. So, he went to tell Perry that he was leaving and prepared for the inevitable awkwardness that was sure to come.

**Author's Note:**

> I like sick supers. I've already gotten started on a sick!Clark fic. :D
> 
> AND DON'T FORGET THAT I AM MAKING THE CHAPTER TWO! 
> 
> Get your shit together, AO3


End file.
